


From the Desk of Angela Ziegler

by Duress_To_Impress



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Professors, Angela "Mercy" Ziegler-centric, Art, Cheating, Drama & Romance, Extramarital Affairs, F/F, Feminist Themes, Infidelity, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Loneliness, Lonely Angela Ziegler, No Lesbians Die, Nostalgia, Overwatch - Freeform, Professor Angela Ziegler, Romance, Sapphic, Slow Romance, Star-crossed, Sugar Baby Angela, Sugar Mommy Amelie, Tragic Romance, Trans Moira O'Deorain, Widowmercy - Freeform, Young Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duress_To_Impress/pseuds/Duress_To_Impress
Summary: Angela Ziegler's life is in turmoil after she receives a letter from an ex.With an occupied wife and a lacking social circle, her only hope for guidance is colleague and acquaintance Moira O'Deorain, a blunt and inquisitive woman who wants all the details of the case before she feels comfortable offering advice.Everyone is trying to get away from something, so what's biting at Angela's heels?
Relationships: Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to do a bit of a rewrite of my previous OW work, so hopefully this goes over well. The work this is building off of was my largest and most successful to date, so I've decided to play around with the timeline and the formatting so that it makes a bit more sense and carries a little more weight.
> 
> Feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated.

Doctor O’Deorain,

As I’m certain you’re aware, everyone is trying to get away from something. Now, I certainly don’t mean to imply that everyone has some terrible hidden history, but even the highest-flying angel might look back at her lie and find that she has some regrets. The issue with these regrets is that I've realized recently that they don’t even need to be big to define the way I live my life, and that's frustrating to say the least. The more I think about it, I find I’m less myself and more an amalgamation of outcomes, as if I stopped existing a long time ago, and what I am now is just speculation.

That being said, five hours ago I existed, but now I’m just drunk. Five days ago I was out with Lena having a lovely dinner at a nice restaurant, but now I’m home alone. Five years ago I was certain I had left everything well enough behind me, but now I’m holding in my hand an envelope from Amelie LaCroix. It’s almost incomprehensible. I thought for a moment that I might be dreaming, but of course this is all far too unexpected for me to have speculated on.

You said only to write you if there was an emergency, so now I’m certain you must understand the urgency of my situation: a distant wife, a romantic ex, and idiot left wondering how to handle it all without going insane. I know you don’t really know who I am outside of those meetings, but I figure this will be a nice way to get around my current inability to hold down a therapist. Email is cheaper, after all, and I trust your blunt sensibilities to the pandering optimism of a psychologist. Or worse: a psychiatrist. Let me know what questions you may have, and when I’m feeling a bit better I’ll give you the answers.

Your acquaintance,  
A. Ziegler, M.D.


	2. Chapter 2

Doctor O’Deorain,

Thank you for your quick response. I feel like I'm stuck within the mind of myself years ago, wondering what my life might be like if I continue on with my wicked ways: running from my problems and hoping they don’t catch up with me. To build on that, I have the letter in front of me here, and I have decided that before I tell you what it says I have to give you the proper background. You asked me in your letter, who is Amelie?

Amelie LaCroix and I dated for a while when I worked as a professor, back in that little town in the middle of nowhere. Meeting her at all was dangerous, but frankly, the more I learned about her the harder I found it to keep away. Taking inventory of the situation in hindsight, there were three things which especially drew me in.

Firstly, she was French. This was exotic, but given my own migration to the United States, that exotic element brought with it a sense of familiarity. Secondly, she was a lesbian, which was apparently a big new movement for Parisian socialites at the time. Thirdly, she was rich, which brings me to the reason she was visiting my university.

Our art department had come into possession of some pieces from the 80s, made by a local artist-turned-feminist-icon. She had managed to make waves in New York after escaping the place (Hammond, it was called, a tiny agricultural town), and her earlier work had become quite valuable as a consequence. Amelie was very interested in what little feminist culture the town had to offer, and so I had it arranged that I would meet her to discuss our experiences as lesbian women in our respective professions. Ultimately, the discussion would be about a donation to our university which would fund in part an exhibition of the pieces we had received.

The first thing we did was meet for breakfast. I tried my best to keep my fascination hidden, but I found myself so captured by her olive skin, her deep black hair, and her gorgeous borders. It was hard to stay professional when the person I was speaking to seemed so nonchalant, sipping casually at a mixed drink. It was as if we were discussing the weather when really, we were talking about many thousands of dollars in charitable donations for a cause which was close to both of us. After trying my best to seem intelligent for an hour or so, she asked if I knew anyone else in town who might be described as an important lesbian figure. When I told her that I didn’t know of any other activists on campus who weren't students, she offered to pay for our meals and asked if we could meet again. I wish it weren’t so romantic, especially to look back on.

You get caught up in those things, don’t you? I feel like everyone must: I work on my research, and I can’t help but let myself wander back to that part of my life. I smile when I remember that she said she trusted me, that she held me close while I talked about the changes the world was going through. I still bite my lip hard enough to pock it for a while, thinking about how she shaved for me, about how she wished I would go back with her to France.

So there’s the answer to your first question. I suspect you’ll want answers to the others you sent me, and I’ll start right away on those. The next letter is going to be the big one, I think, the one where I tell you what went wrong. From there, we can discuss why this letter is as big an issue as it is.

Your acquaintance,  
A. Ziegler, M.D.


	3. Chapter 3

Doctor O’Deorain,

You had questions about the letter, and the situation between my wife and I. Before I can tell you about that, I do have to tell you a little more about Amelie.

At some point, we ended up at a local cafe, staring into each other's eyes and talking about whatever it was that might have interested us then. It was a warm, bright time, which couldn't help but lead into a dark and blurry night. We drank and we cried and we slept together a few times over the curse of her stay. I should have seen it then, that there was something wrong, but all I could really face at that point was the fact that I was falling in love with a rich, attractive woman who was getting know me and love me better with each passing meeting.

One time, I found myself waking up in her arms, stuffed between her and the back-cushions of her couch as she rumbled softly with snores behind me. She seemed almost to purr once the full breath was out, it must have been what sleep sounded like to someone as beautiful as her. I remember pressing my face against that smooth tan skin, watching those gentle eyes open up with some shock at my nuzzling. I can remember her arms around me, and her hands in my hair and on my hips and trailing weightlessly down my ass as the tips of her fingers traced the contours of my body. I can remember being shocked to realize I was nude beneath the blanket, and then I can remember realizing I shouldn't have been shocked.

She asked me to go back to France, which was lovely, but I had to decline. The entirety of my life was built up in that small town, like a pile of clothes and people and things at the base of a mountain. I know now that I should have left it all behind, but who was I at that time to risk everything for anything? What risks had I taken before in my time studying, or working as a professor? It all seems so trivial now that I look back at it, I would have happily been a housewife, which as you know between women means a writer, or a painter, or something hobby-based.

Instead, she left.

She made her donation, which was accepted and the art was displayed for a few years. It sat quietly in the halls of the local museum, with a plaque placed beside the entrance with her name on it. She was a living woman, and she left nothing behind to commemorate her journey but the art of a dead lesbian, which sat haunted and lifeless.

I met Lena sometime after that. We met online, and it became apparent to me very quickly that things were going to work out, for better or for worse. I did love her for a time, but it wasn't long before I started noticing a distance building between us. She was spending more time at her engineering job and I at the office. We were so busy that we couldn't have animals like she wanted, which was fine by me. We differed on many subjects, a lot of them having to do with how we should live our lives. Recently we've been seeing less of each other than ever. We used to make the time, but we couldn't always follow through with what little we managed to promise.

Then the letter arrived, and it broke everything up for me in a myriad of ways.

Amelie had been looking into me, taking time from her busy schedule and studying what it was that happened to the woman she had loved all those years ago. I can't help but find it sweet, as scary as it seems that she found out so much about me when I don't have a single piece of social media online. She found out about my marriage and my current email. She found out I work for you, and where. She found out that Lena has been cheating on me for months with her current apprentice, and she sent me a physical letter to explain it all to me.

Lena saw the letter, and now she's with her parents two towns over. I didn't even throw her out, she left of her own accord after seeing the letter, figuring I would leave her for a millionaire. Everything happening all together, I probably should. Let me know if you have any further questions, or any advice for me. Anything at all would be much appreciated, especially from someone who seems to have their life together.

Your acquaintance,  
A. Ziegler, M.D.


End file.
